


Drift

by fundamentalBlue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28258350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fundamentalBlue/pseuds/fundamentalBlue
Summary: He remembers the first taste of acrid air, the stink of welding and burnt plastics serenading his deepest cravings for this way of life. The floors clicked underneath his military-issued boots, the world swirling around him as people bobbed right and left, bent on their missions. It was an indifference Tony was gasping and begging for, a life away from being the son of a very rich man with very far reach. Here, he was just Tony.And this life was his for the taking.Until he met Steve, and then the idea of security, guarantees, came tumbling down.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35
Collections: Stony's Sad Secret Santa





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/gifts).



“Tony.” 

There’s something just out of reach, outside of time—he stretches his mind—

“ _Tony_.” 

It dissipates as if it were never there. As if it was always there and Tony grasping it is like falling, sliding down, down into a vat of _nothing_. 

“I hear you, Maria. They’ll find him.”

“And you have to come to the realization that they might not.” 

“I can feel him. He’s in here, he’s—”

“That is not how the drift works.” 

“The fuck you know. He’s in me.”

“Tony, this is enough. It’s enough to get you taken out of the jaeger program until you prove you have the mental capacity to endure it. This needs to stop. I’m trying to help you.” 

“No. You’re trying to help Fury. He doesn’t want his precious drift-compatible pilots spouting off all sorts of nonsense.” 

_You could be more kind, Tony._

_Not your business, Steve._

_Nothing could be further from the truth._

_They don’t believe in us, in this. They’re the enemy._

_Why are there always sides with you?_

“Fine. I don’t see, hear, or otherwise speak to Steve when we’re not in drift.”

_Happy?_

Steve is silent. He’s been quieter since the accident. Maybe he’s punishing Tony. Maybe he’s teaching him.

“Have you given more thought to medication?” 

Tony scoffs, crosses his legs, tucks them up under his chin, and stares out into the military labs that put together the largest technological advancements of the modern age. 

He remembers the first taste of acrid air, the stink of welding and burnt plastics serenading his deepest cravings for this way of life. The floors clicked underneath his military-issued boots, the world swirling around him as people bobbed right and left, bent on their missions. It was an indifference Tony was gasping and begging for, a life away from being the son of a very rich man with very far reach. Here, he was just Tony. 

And this life was his for the taking. 

Until he met Steve, and then the idea of security, guarantees, came tumbling down. 

\-----

_Atragon_ chitters, low and curling, its sleek body whipping through the storm with a lazy sway that belied the danger therein. Rain comes down in torrents, and even through their helmets they could hear the pat-pat of it battering the cold steel that sat between them and their enemy. 

_Wait, Tony._

_We always wait. Can’t we just go?_

Steve’s laughter echoes and frolics merrily through Tony’s mind. As if it hears their conversation, _Atragon_ shrieks, lifting one curled claw out of the water in order to crawl forward, its hideously empty yellow eyes locking tight to the jaeger. 

“Come on, sweet pea,” Tony hums over the coms. The Iron Captain has had a few upgrades recently. Steve wants to hide them, to not use them if at all possible, but after the events of a couple of weeks ago, when Black Hawk barely made it out alive, suit dripping in acid flung from a new, unnamed Kaiju, Tony was ready to deliver the goods. 

_Hold, Tony. We hold._

The corpses of the other Kaiju have sunk down into the water, the glittering phosphorescence of their bulk dancing just out of plain sight. 

Moments like these always make Tony wonder how, and why, they were drift compatible. But truly, it was the nights spent in Steve’s arms, waiting for the next battle, the next time where there might be no others after, that told Tony the truth: they were of one soul. 

Thank god Fury didn’t care to speculate on what they thought about the nature of their relationship. Only that it was effective. Only that so few people were mentally aligned enough to endure the rigid abuse of the suit together, and come out alive and sane. 

If sanity were a requirement, none of them would be here. 

One step, then another. 

Sometimes Tony thinks they’re sentient, or that whatever was controlling them had ideas. 

_One more step and he’s in range. We should hammer him with the unibeam. That’s what it was made for._

Flickering images pass through Tony’s mind. In them, _Atragon_ hauls itself forward, the sharp bite of its fingers grasping the suit, and the Iron Captain rises to meet it like a lover, holding tight, and then—

_And they call me dramatic._ Tony chuffs. 

\---

“ _0500 hours. All pilots are to report to—”_

“Oh, no, you don’t.” 

Thor whips Tony around, beefy hands indomitably strong on Tony’s shoulders. 

“You couldn’t have found me on your own. Where’s—” 

“—Right here.” Loki links arms with Tony as Thor does the same, and walks all three of them back towards the tinny voice that’s calling all pilots. 

“I’m not officially a pilot right now. And I’ve got to wait for Steve.” The other techs and scientists walk by, their eyes sliding off of the pilots as though they’re greased. Traitors. 

“Steve would want you to show up.”

_You know I would._

_Shut up. You want to be helpful? Come back._

“Fury isn’t going to be mad if I don’t make an appearance. He’ll understand.” Tony tries to back up, dragging his feet on the ground as the other two pilots begin to drag him. 

“This isn’t for Fury,” Thor says. 

“Come on, guys, let me go.” 

“You’re usually a better negotiator than that.” Loki’s observation sounds offhanded, indifferent. But Tony knows better. The teams all think that Tony needs to soldier on. To try and wait it out or be there so that if things do turn out badly, they can find someone else who is drift compatible with him. 

But Tony knows better. 

_I don’t want you to stay like this. We loved each other, but this isn’t right, Tony._

_Love, you asshole. Love._

And yes, Tony was aware of the contradiction that, if he believes Steve is a part of him, Steve telling Tony it’s over is as good as confirmation that Tony is either crazy, or that Steve only lives inside Tony. Now, and forever. 

Tony doesn’t care. It’s only been 48 hours. It’s not enough _time_. Not nearly enough. 

\---

The Iron Captain is built for so many things that it doesn’t know what it wants to be. It’s as eclectic and strange as its pilots: glutted with power, but fast as lightning. Built to endure, but outfitted with delicate components that inevitably ended up wrecked. State of the art reactor tech, but the oldest drift tech in the stable. The kind that was unforgiving, and required perfect balance between its pilots. They are the only pilots who can stomach its rigorous mental requirements. 

_I want to fly instead._

_Save it for when we need it._

_It’s never going to end, so there’s nothing to save it for._

Steve is silent, immutable. 

_Atragon_ is not. 

Swift, it slinks forward, low and fast on its belly, water dripping from every crevice as it darts towards them. It isn’t usually the kind of attacker that goes for the face, but desperate times. The suit creaks and buzzes, coming to life as Tony and Steve’s mind send minute signals to each operational array to assure readiness. Phosphorescent stripes twinkle and undulate under the haze of water as it flicks towards them with ever-increasing speed. It doesn’t lumber, or barrel, but instead whips its body up as it roars, climbing the legs of the suit as if it’s an overgrown cat-tree. The claws clack on the surface, finding purchase in the divots of each hinge as they raise their arms to stop it from toppling them over. 

_Seems like you got what you wanted, Steve._ The other man grunts as Tony sinks his mind into the array of the left arm, twisting it to lock onto the rough surface of the Kaiju, grasping at the plated biological armor of the thing, hoping to twist off a piece or otherwise secure it in place so that Steve can activate the beam. It scrabbles at them, squeezing down on the metal plates and releasing a shrill cry of victory that’s ahead of schedule. 

_Hold steady._ Steve whispers, almost to himself. Tony feels the warm churn of the reactor tech, revving up its power to deliver a single, focused blast to the enemy. The structural integrity of the suit is holding; _Atragon_ is not capable of lifting them up on its own power, but instead starts attempting to peel away their layers with its undignified scratching. 

Another shriek, and it tears off a panel on their arm, as well as one that covers the joint on their leg. 

The repair lab is going to be thoroughly pissed at them. 

\--

Meeting over, Tony sidles off. Or rather, he tries to. 

“Tony.” 

Rhodey catches him on the way out, Carol a creepy little shadow behind him. Tony no more understands how these two are drift compatible than he understands how Steve and he are. Hidden depths. 

“Come to tell me to stop projecting my wild beliefs on everyone?” Tony turns around and looks at his best friend. Really looks at him. 

Rhodey is tired. Does Tony look as tired as that? He must. He must look worse. 

“No. Tony—” Rhodey cuts himself off. It’s not like his friend to not know what to say, but Tony figures there’s both a first time for everything and a good reason for his speechlessness. 

“I’m not your friend, so hear me when I say this. I know he’s out there, and we’ll find him. Dead or alive, we’ll find something.” 

“Aww, shucks, Carol, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me since you cut me off at your wedding.” 

“Yeah, well, Steve wasn’t there at the time to reel you in. You’ll be impossible if he doesn’t come back. So, he just has to.” Carol crosses her arms and glares at Tony, as if Tony is the _reason_ Steve isn’t here right now. 

_Don’t say a word about me not blaming myself, Steve. You can’t hide from the truth. I killed you. Or I lost you. Either way, this is my fault. Don’t you dare tell me otherwise._ Steve, apparently having learned some lessons about contradicting Tony, remains silent.

“Just come to us when you need to, Tony. Can you promise me that?” Rhodey tries to be so gentle, he does, but it comes out fraught with desperation, with the sick knowledge between them that there isn’t a Tony without Steve. That if Steve doesn’t come back, Tony is never coming back. 

It doesn’t matter what manifestation that takes, though Tony thinks he knows where he’ll go if he can’t physically find Steve anymore. It doesn’t scare him as much as it should. 

\---

_Now, Tony_. 

Like a held breath, the hum of the reactor becomes overbearing, its whirring loud and almost a soft whine of power as it moves to overclock and release a mega-ton drop of energy. The world around them narrows; sweat clings to the inside of their helmets, the defoggers just barely removing enough moisture for them to see the glow of LEDs, the streams of data, and tiny beeping alarms that tell them they’re soon to be crushed if they don’t act soon. 

They hug _Atragon_ tight, the only sound between them the creaking and buckling of the suit as it brings the enemy closer, closer. 

There. 

So unlike a slow-motion film, one moment their arms are loose about their captive, and the next they’re holding onto the Kaiju for dear life as it bellows out its pain. The unibeam releases a torrent of pure, unadulterated energy, slamming into the scaly skin of the Kaiju and shredding it like tissue paper. Gleaming blue blood saturates the window in front of them while _Atragon_ screams in rage and loss. 

It’s these moments that Tony knows with a certainty that while the Kaiju themselves don’t care about their lives, they’re too petty to be lacking in sentience. 

_Atragon moves_ , independent of its torn off lower half, and strikes once, twice, again at the window in front of them. 

Their arms automatically move to protect their head, but it’s too late as the glass crunches, then caves in, claws reaching for the both of them. 

\----

Seventy-two hours. 

They’ve never been apart for this long. Not since they became one for their first time.

Scientists call it drift merge. 

Tony thinks it’s nothing less than soulmates. To believe otherwise is to court the idea that there’s no good place in this world for them. No use for their state of being besides being jaeger pilots. And if that’s all they are, Tony isn’t sure he wants to exist like that. 

Steve, who agrees with him, in his own way, is either better at hiding it, or at believing two contradictory things at the same time. That they are both soulmates, and also the victims of a particular mental illness that can only and ever afflict pilots who drift. 

But it doesn’t really matter. Because in any other military field, the idea of two minds being so compatible that they lose pieces, chunks of themselves to the other person would be an immediate disqualification of service. Here, their so-called insanity is a treasure. The more compatible the team, the more tech-laden the suit. Lesser synced minds can’t handle the sensory load, but they can. 

_It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, Tony._

_Where are you?_

Tony is aware that if Steve is with him, inside of him, he shouldn’t feel any sense of concern or fear. But it’s been 72 hours. Steve hasn’t turned up in any hospitals. No body has been found. The last time he saw him, the last time he saw Steve, it was on the battlefield. The moment sits in his mind with crystal clarity, the very moment that he failed to save Steve, to protect him. 

The doors to his room slide open, and Natasha steps through. 

“You’re done moping.” 

“I’m not moping, I’m waiting.” 

“You’re done doing that, too.” She grabs him and drags. Tony tumbles out of the bed, not opting to get on his feet. Natasha doesn’t let up, continuing to pull at him as Tony sprawls out on the floor. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” There’s nowhere to go. He has to stay right here for when Steve gets back. 

“But you are. Clothes, on.” Tony glares up at her from his place on the floor. But Natasha takes no shit, stomping over to his closet and wrenching the doors wide open, tossing a clean shirt at him along with some socks, boxers, and a neatly folded pair of pants. Pants that Steve had folded. 

“On. Now. I won’t ask again before I toss you into the shower.” Natasha will do it, Tony is certain. Begrudgingly, he starts to undress, uncaring that Natasha is watching him closely, as if he can’t possibly dress himself on his own. 

Clean clothes on, she hauls him up by his elbow, and drags him out the door. The fluorescent lights are brutal after the dimness of his room, and he blinks several times, trying to discern where they’re going. 

She takes him to the cafeteria, which isn’t serving food, or shouldn’t be, but seems to have a small buffet laid out on the table that’s surrounded by their friends. Jennifer and Bruce, Thor and Loki, Wade and Peter, Clint and Natasha, Rhodey and Carol. They all look at him without pity, or remorse. It was the Spiderpool suit that rescued them the other night, finally tearing _Atragon_ apart. Tony watched the footage. He watched as Steve was tossed into the dark, unyielding sea. 

How could they not find him? 

He sits down, and grabs at the food in front of him, not willing to converse about any of it. Bruce lays a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. 

There’s nothing to say. 

\---

It’s not fair. 

It’s utterly wrong. 

The claws that seem to be coming for them both latch around Steve as if the Kaiju intimately understands how a jaeger is nothing without its pilots. 

There’s no space or time to scream. No empty void where Tony gets even a second to contemplate what’s next before Steve is torn, wrenched from his bearings, and sucked out into the empty air, the rain. 

“Steve!” The cry is torn from his throat, useless and muted by the groans of the jaeger and the Kaiju. 

The claws dive in again, less coordinated this time, and Tony briefly thinks that the Kaiju is dying before he has the twisted desire to be wrapped up in the creature’s hand, to be tossed out to where _Steve_ is. 

_Steve._

They’ll find him. They have to. This fight isn’t over. 

\---

“You can’t declare him dead. It’s not even been a week!”

“I know this is hard for you, Tony. I know you and Steve had something special, meaningful. You were our best pilots.” Fury is so unflappable. The man’s hands are crossed in front of him as if this is just another day, Just one more meeting he has to be done and over with. 

“We _are_ your best pilots. Steve is out there, and you’re not even—you’re not even looking for him!” How dare they abandon Steve. Steve. Who has been there for the program for years now, stopping almost every single Kaiju attack with Tony as though he was born to do it. 

_Just because they don’t understand, doesn’t mean you can take it out on them, Tony. You have to be patient. Calm. I’m coming. I promise._

A sudden chill takes Tony. There’s a small, infinitesimal piece of him that doesn’t believe it. That whispers that Steve isn’t coming back. That maybe he’s hearing things like they’re always saying he is. No one has ever tested their bond. No one has ever believed them. 

Anger, like putrid bile, rises in his throat. He’s enraged at Fury, at this fucking bureacratic machine that has never cared for its heroes, at himself. 

His eyes mist over, and he blinks rapidly, turning his face away from them. 

“Tony—”

“Shut the fuck up. Just shut the fuck up. He’s out there and you’re abandoning him. You aren’t even holding out any hope for him at all.” 

“We won’t stop looking until we find something. But you have to accept the fact that he might be gone. And with that, we’ll be looking at new drift compatible candidates for you. Your mind is malleable and we can work with that.” 

Tony stands up, tossing his chair behind him and letting it clatter uselessly to the ground. He slams his hands on the desk in front of him, bouncing Fury’s elbows and knickknacks. 

“You’re truly evil if you think there’s anyone for me but Steve. I’d rather go alone in a jaeger than drift with anyone else. Steve is _here_ , inside of me. Why don’t you understand that? Send me in alone, or with no one else. In fact, send me in now, and I can find Steve.” 

Fury looks at him for a second, a fleeting, bleeding edge second where Tony thinks that finally, _finally_ someone understands, before the man opens his mouth to speak. 

“Escort Tony Stark to his quarters and initiate code yellow lockdown.” 

Tony lets himself be dragged away. 

\---

Tony is strapped to the gurney, the clumsy rolling of it distracting him from pawing at his oxygen mask. 

“Steve. Steve. Steve!” It’s like his mouth won’t work around his tongue, and everything that comes out is slurred. 

“Stop, Tony! Stop!” Hands at his wrists, pinning him, as light after light cascades over his form. He’s moving. They’re going somewhere. Without Steve. 

“You have to… you have to save him.” 

“Tony, you have to stop moving. Please. We’re looking for him.” 

Whoever is promising this to him seems like they mean it, and Tony slumps into his person, letting go of everything. 

It’s a marvel that he doesn’t slip into a seizure or otherwise pass out. Instead, he’s preternaturally aware of everything going on around him. Every prick of the needle and each hand that’s plucking at his extremities, removing pieces of the suit from him with blunt scissors and quick tears. 

“Where is Steve?” He asks, dumb, knowing the answer probably hasn’t changed. 

“They’re looking. They’re looking, we promise.” 

Tears leak out of his eyes, and he can feel every breath start to compound. Expand his chest, his mind, until he’s a whirring bundle of madness and need. He needs Steve. Where is Steve? 

“Steve?” 

“Tony, they’re going to knock you out and intubate you if you can’t stay calm.”

“Steve.” 

\---

At this point, he consciously knows the odds. Knows there’s no chance if it were anyone but Steve and they were anyone but them. But it is them. They’ve been through worse. 

The time that one of the first Kaijus in Sicily snapped a claw off right next to Tony’s body, almost impaling him. Or when they both passed out after taking a direct punch to their container, bodies tumbling and hitting the wall. There’s been worse times than this. 

There’s no way he can rewind to the moment where Steve was tugged out of Tony’s life, but he relives it again and again, thinking if he could have just been taken with Steve. Or if maybe it hadn’t been raining. 

His face is wet. 

Tony wipes at it, disconcerted. Is he crying? 

Steve will come back. There’s no reason to cry. 

_I love you_. Steve says. 

_Then come back._

Again, silence. 

He has to get out of here. He has to find his way to the practice rooms, where he can instigate a drift without Steve. Steve is inside him, somewhere. Everyday he hears from Steve less, and Tony has to believe it’s because Tony is failing to find him. Failing at making the connection he _knows_ is there. 

Slowly, he uncoils himself and pads over to the numberlocked panel. 

Before he was a pilot for the jaeger program, he was an engineer. This is laughably easy to break into and break down. 

The door wheezes open, and he steps through into the empty hall. 

Time has lost some meaning, but Tony knows it’s late. No one will be wandering the halls like he is. He’ll have the best chance of getting to the practice room if he hurries along. 

Finally, he’s in front of the door, and he swiftly breaks down the number lock there as well, thanking the powers that be that it’s not dissimilar to the one from his room and that disabling it doesn’t seem to be setting off any alarms. 

Inside, it’s eerily quiet, the twin headsets tilted and languishing against each other, taunting him. Tony boots up a screen and snatches one of the helmets, donning it as he goes through the routine of turning on the training routines. The neural load is supposed to be unbearable for two people, but more than ever, Tony believes Steve is waiting for Tony to find him, inside of their bond. 

As the screen comes to life, Tony sighs, relieved to finally be _doing_ something to help find Steve, and activates the program.

\---

Natasha runs. Weaving through the hallways, she jumps over carts and sends a few techs spilling against the walls. 

It takes minutes to get to Fury’s office, but it feels like hours. 

The door doesn’t open and she can hear voices inside. Impatient, she uses the codes she stole one time from Maria, and forces the door open. 

Inside—

Inside is Fury. 

And Steve. 

“I’d ask where you’ve been, but we don’t have time for that. Tony is looking for you.” She glares at Steve. 

Steve moves to say something, but Fury cuts him off. 

“He’ll be out when we’re finished, pilot.” 

“Let me fucking clarify. He’s looking in the drift.” 

Steve’s eyes widen and his military parade rest crumbles. Steve brushes her aside and leaps towards the training centers. 

“You _really_ had to keep Steve’s rescue from Tony even a second longer than necessary? I could almost accuse you of setting this up. If Tony doesn’t make it out of this…” Natasha trails off, accusing and threatening all at once.

“They’ll make it. Steve will get him back.” 

“The clock is at four hours of Tony being under. He’ll have brain damage by now.” 

Fury is silent. 

There’s nothing for it as Natasha turns on her heel and races after Steve. 

When she gets to the room, there’s already a silent gathering of medical personnel and other pilots. Rhodes walks forward and grabs Natasha’s hand as Steve picks up the other helmet and puts it on. 

“He’s done for. He’s been drooling here since he’s been found.” A tech leans over and whispers to another tech who has just entered the room. 

Natasha tightens and grabs onto Clint, who is gazing darkly at the machine in front of them. 

No one drifts alone and ends up okay. They should have stopped Tony’s delusions a lot sooner. Should have seen what was coming. But there was something so inspiring and pure about the two of them that Tony’s belief in their combined soul had never been a detriment to a mission before. It’s what made them good. It made them the best. 

Now, Tony is strapped into a machine that he might never come unstuck from. It’s absurd for Steve to even try, but if it were Clint, Natasha would be doing the same. 

Minutes tick by as Steve locks into the machine, his mind seeking out Tony’s in order to sync with it, to take on some of the burden that the machine places on drifters and balance it between them. 

Finally, after an agonizing half hour, the machine moves through its power down process and the locking mechanisms detach from both pilots. 

“Tony. Tony, wake up.” Steve reaches over and grasps at Tony’s prone form, shaking him gently. The medical team starts to move, but Steve waves them off. 

It’s awful. 

There’s no hope for Tony like this. Natasha watches as Carol holds the crumpling form of Rhodes in her arms, the man shaking with loss. 

They’re all silent, grieving, as Steve begins to shake Tony less gently, imploring his lover to wake up, to come back. 

Tony sucks in a breath, his chest expanding and limbs twitching. 

Natasha has to remind herself that even brain dead people can make motions. 

“Steve?” Quiet, lost, Natasha barely hears Tony’s voice above the murmuring that’s rising throughout the room. 

She takes in the two of them, her hand tightening around Clint’s as Steve’s expression _crumbles_ , burying himself into Tony’s body. Tony blinks, like he’s waking up from deep sleep, and he reaches out, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shaking frame.

\--

Dr. Geiszler is gesticulating wildly, pointing at equations and other scribblings on his board as Fury glares at the two of them. 

“It’s premature, but I think Tony’s brain thought it was drifting with a second person… all the time. So naturally, his brain wouldn’t take the full neural load until his partner dialed in. This is _groundbreaking_. If we can get all jaeger pilots to do this, we could prevent complete loss of control of the suit when one partner is disabled—”

“Kindly fuck off, Doctor,” Fury coughs and says loudly to the room. Dr. Geiszler sputters, but drags his board away, grumbling about the lack of appreciation. 

“So the moral of the story is that I won’t ever do something like that again, and you won’t keep it from me when you find Steve the next time a giant monster tears him out of our suit.”

“We didn’t keep it from you,” Fury grumbles. 

“You did.” Tony traces the seams of the new uniform they’ve given Steve. It has a star on it. Tony likes that. 

“We didn’t.” 

“Tony,” Steve warns, caressing Tony’s hair. 

“Fine. But my point is proven. I found Steve in the drift. I didn’t die because Steve is always with me.” 

“That’s a very roundabout way of telling the story, but letting you have your narrative doesn’t conflict with our end goals.” 

“How generous of you,” Tony says. “So, when are we on the field next?” 

“Next attack is predicted in Haiti, approximately three weeks from now.” 

As Fury relays all the information they’ll need to suit up, Tony gazes up at his partner, his lover, his soulmate. They can say that there’s no truth to it, no higher meaning, but Tony _found_ Steve in the drift. Steve meets Tony’s eyes with a smile on his lips. The emotions and sureness that fills Tony at the sight, of Steve’s presence next to him, assure him that Steve isn’t going anywhere.

Steve has always been there. Steve will always be there.


End file.
